The Sleeping Arrangement

Chapter 3

Needless to say, Thomas and I were excused from the rest of the activities on our first day at Sunnybrook Youth Centre, on the grounds that I'd probably gained concussion from my fall into the water, and Thomas might as well keep me company. I had to admit, I was absolutely fine with the set-up, but it was quite boring inside of the old building, and we only spent half an hour in the rec room before growing bored and heading back up to the attic.

That, too, was a situation I was absolutely fine with... until I realised that Thomas and I had three whole hours to kill before there would be even a mention of dinner, or the plans for the evening when the others got back from the afternoon's abseiling activity. This meant that, for those three hours, I would need to make conversation with Thomas. And that was something I was definitely not comfortable with.

"So, are you looking forward to spending the night in bed with me?" Thomas asked, flopping down onto the creaky double and spreading his arms out behind his head with a waggle of his eyebrows.

That was the sort of thing making this whole situation so much more difficult to deal with. How was I supposed to respond to his jokes when I could barely look him in the eye as he was telling them without blushing?

"Oh, of course I am!" I replied, the sarcasm screaming out above everything else. I really wished I wasn't quite so dry, sometimes...

Thomas laughed, however, and sat up on the bed, pressing his back against the headboard and gesturing for me to join him. I sat myself down on the opposite side, facing him, with my legs crossed beneath me. It was silent for a moment, and I tugged at a thread hanging out of the duvet with my fingertips, until Thomas suddenly spoke.

"Of all people," he said, and I looked at him to see that he was shaking his head, smiling. "Of all people the school could have possibly chosen to come here, it just had to be us, didn't it?"

What did he mean by that? I frowned, tilting my head to one side, and asked him. Thomas laughed and rubbed his nose. It looked as though his cheeks coloured up a little as he did so, but I already knew that he was embarrassed: four and a half years of watching him from across classrooms had taught me that him rubbing his nose was a sure sign that he felt uncomfortable for whatever reason. It was cute—one of his characteristics only noticeable to those who really knew him.

"Well," he continued, his blue eyes sparkling as he looked over at me, and then away again (we still hadn't properly mastered that eye-contact technique), "I remember we spoke for a little while, back in year seven. Do you remember how you used to sit next to me in our German class?" When I nodded, secretly impressed that he'd remembered, Thomas smiled some more. "We had a good laugh back then, didn't we? I mean, we were the class rebels, of course..." Thomas winked at this, and I laughed at him, thinking back to how we used to cause havoc for our teacher, Mrs Diefenbaker—a stubby, cross old lady with a moustache, who wore circular glasses and a skirt that never quite fit around her stomach properly.

"That used to be my favourite class," I told him, keeping my head down and my eyes attached to the floral bedspread beneath my legs.

"It was mine, too," Thomas said easily, and I tried desperately hard to hide my excitement, though my mouth creased into a smile ten times wider than any normal one, and my stomach flipped. "But I just think about how fun things used to be, back then...and then we just kinda drifted. I mean, I got my friends and you got yours, so I guess that's why we stopped sitting together. But...we literally did just stop talking, completely. And, after all this time—and we're almost finished with school now, for goodness' sake—don't you find it just a little bit funny that we've ended up together, again?"

I smiled at him. "It is sort of crazy," I agreed. Then, with a wink, I added, "Maybe it's a sign."

Thomas grinned. "Maybe," he answered, though there didn't seem to be much hope in his voice, and, within a moment, he'd turned the conversation right around to Mrs Diefenbaker's moustache. My bubble of excitement deflated completely. The next three hours were spent talking normally, and several times, when he mentioned her name, my jealousy towards Lizzie returned.